Nominee
by Channel D
Summary: Tim is sure that he has no chance of winning an NCIS award because his competitors are so much better than he is. His friends think he's jealous, and they may be right. But is something darker going on? Drama in 10 parts; now complete.
1. Prologue

**Nominee**

**by channelD**

_written for_: the NFA White Elephant Exchange. The recipient requested: _Tim, please. Preferably something ranging from dramatic to traumatic...but with a happy ending. _

_prompt_:_** How glorious it is -- and also how painful -- to be an exception. ~ Alfred de Musset**_

_rating_: K plus

_genre_: drama

_pairings_: none

_featuring_: Tim & the crew

**_Spoiler warning_**: Minor (very) spoilers for the season six two-part episode _Legend._

- - - - -

_disclaimer_: I still own nothing of NCIS.

- - - - -

**Prologue**

- - - - -

"I'm pretty stoked about it. And I just had to tell someone, Mom!"

"_Well, you should be, Tim! We're both so proud of you. Aren't we, Kale?"_ said Cleo McGee, on the other end of the phone.

Tim grinned on hearing a distant grunt. He knew it would take a lot to get his father's attention away from a baseball game on TV. "Thanks. Of course, the NCIS awards ceremony is two weeks off, so I won't know until then if I've won it. But, as the saying goes, it's an honor just to be nominated."

"_And don't you forget that, no matter what the outcome. How do Tony and Ziva feel about it?"_

"I haven't told them. The nominees are encouraged to not really talk about it much. I think the only reason they tell the nominees about the nominations is to make sure we'll show up."

"_Tim, you always were one for hiding your light under a bushel. Please don't do that here. Show up, smile, and if you win, accept the award graciously."_

"Yes, ma'am," Tim grinned. "I don't think there's much chance that I'll get it, though. It's for Excellence in Applied Technology, and the other two nominees have more time in and really are better than me."

"_McGees don't give up, Tim. Ooops, the oven timer just went off and your father will be wanting his dinner, so I'd better go. Talk to you soon. Love you."_

"Love you too, Mom."

Tim slowly clicked off his phone, and returned to his own dinner, cooking on his stove. His thoughts were still on the NCIS awards. He'd never even made the nominations before now, much less won an award. No, Tony and Ziva might be stunned if they knew (although _they_ weren't ever going to come up in the now-and-then-awarded Applied Technology division). To them, he felt, he was still the unfulfilled probie. Tony had been nominated in other categories a few times, and Ziva had won Best Rookie in her first year here (even though she wasn't technically part of NCIS).

His winning would be a long shot. Lori Averand could make code dance in her hand, and Randy Klemp always had fantastic ideas for new projects. Tim wasn't entirely sure what he had done to make the list of nominees, though he had suggested a few improvements in Systems and written a couple programs. But that didn't, that shouldn't make him a winner…unless the judges had a higher opinion of him than he did. _Nah. _Whether Lori or Randy would be the one to win was something he couldn't tell. They were above amazing in their abilities.

It never occurred to him that circumstances might dictate that there would not be a winner…maybe ever again.


	2. The First and Second Calamities

**Chapter 1: The first and second calamities**

- - - - -

_Ten days later…_

"Morning." Tim nodded at his teammates as he entered the squad room. He set his backpack down at his desk, and hung up his jacket, prepared to start another ordinary day.

"Morning." Tony, about to pop a jelly donut into his mouth. "Good morning, McGee." Ziva, stirring her tea.

Tony then added, "Why the dead man's suit, McGeek?"

Tim looked down at what he was wearing, trying to figure out what Tony meant.

Tony answered it for him. "Black suit, sober shirt and tie…you going to a wake?"

"It was what was in my closet. I guess I didn't think about it much."

"Or could it have something to do with the fact that today is the day when the awards nominees are announced…Mr. _Excellence in Applied Technology_?"

_Oh, crap. _

As Tim soon learned from Tony's mirthful speech, someone had leaked the names of the nominees of most of the award categories, in violation of tradition. Vance was seething, Tony added.

Tim could see that Tony and Ziva, neither of whom had been nominated for anything, were a little irked by Tim's newfound limelight. Tim genuinely liked Ziva, and even liked Tony (most of the time), but they were as prone to a little petty jealousy as any one else. Tim, for his part, was suddenly uncomfortable.

"Well, that's, um, really good that you got nominated, Probie," Tony said with a half smile that wasn't reflected in his eyes. "I guess you are an exception."

"Yes, McGee. You are…overdone," Ziva said, soberly.

" 'Overdue,' " Tim corrected, and then wished he hadn't. "I don't have any chance of winning, you know."

"You might," said Ziva.

"You guys should have been nominated for something. Seriously." Although he meant it, he knew the words probably sounded like an insincere reaction. His eyes dropped to the papers on his desk.

Tony wouldn't let it go. "I don't know your…co-nominees. Where do they work?"

"I have looked them up!" Ziva said cheerfully, helpfully, to Tim's dismay. "Randall H. Klemp works in San Diego. Lori Averand in the Pentagon. At least she will not have far to travel for the awards ceremony." With a death-eating smile she addressed Tim. "Have you met her, McGee? Is she cute? Will you two go out to dinner afterwards?"

"I guess you'd say she's cute," he said, uncertainly. "But she's old enough to be my mother, so stop what you're thinking."

"And what would I be thinking?"

Tim pursed his lips, recognizing the trap he'd nearly walked into. "So, do you have anything new on the Dixon case?"

"I have a response to my query to the West Virginia state police, and…who is that?"

The other two followed Ziva's gaze. Six neatly-dressed, smiling people had come out of an elevator on the third floor and were being escorted along the balcony by Gibbs toward Vance's office.

"I don't know about the others, but the one in the gray suit is Randy Klemp. I've never met him, but I've seen his picture," said Tim, a bit of hero-worship in his voice.

"Then the other five must be the other out-of-town nominees," Tony surmised. "Not a bad deal. You get a few days off work—real work, that is—and a paid stay in the District."

"Not entirely," Ziva said with a knowing grin. "I have heard that those nominees are put up in a run-down hotel in Maryland and given Metro passes."

"Well, that's the government on a tight budget for you," said Tony.

"The hotel does not even have cable TV."

"No cable?!" Tony yelped. "That's…isn't that unconstitutional? Business trips without cable?!"

"Only a coffee maker in the room is guaranteed by the Constitution," said Gibbs, joining them with a fresh cup. "Congratulations on your nomination, McGee," he then said, and shook Tim's hand.

"Thanks, boss," said Tim, smiling for the first time that day. Still, he wished the subject would change. _Four more days and then this will be over…_ "Are we going out on the Dixon case today?"

Gibbs gave him a quick look, and Tim schooled his face, but figured Gibbs had already read his thoughts. "Not until we have more leads to pursue, McGee. Get cracking, people. There's a grieving widow who wants her husband's killer captured."

Before Tim could feel a sigh of relief, Tony, the terrier, was back on the awards subject. "What do the out-of-town nominees do while they're here, boss? We just saw a group of them come in and go to Vance's office, and the ceremony is still days away."

"Jenny used to have them vacuum and dust her office," Gibbs said with a straight face. "She said it showed their mettle."

"Do they get their medals before the ceremony?" Ziva asked, puzzled.

Tim wisely didn't comment, but Tony said, "No, seriously…"

"They're taken on docent tours of the building, the Yard, the Navy Memorial, and such. I'll tell Vance that you're volunteering, DiNozzo. Thank you."

"Uh…"

"Dress nicely tomorrow for it. Something like what McGee's wearing today."

They looked up at the soft murmur of unfamiliar voices. The group had just come out of Vance's office, following him like ducklings. Vance's voice carried. "We'll start you off with a look at the squad room. This is where our top teams work, including our MCRT."

"Be impressed, kiddies," Tony said softly, straightening his tie. "You're about to be in the presence of Greatness."

"Tony," Tim scolded, shaking his head.

A cry from the balcony pierced the work place, and all heads jerked in that direction.

"Call an ambulance!" "Does anyone know CPR? I think he's stopped breathing!"

Gibbs beat the others on his phone call to Ducky. Within moments it was evident that the stricken man was Randall Klemp. All special agents are proficient in CPR, and several had beat feet up the stairs to the balcony, but Klemp had still not regained consciousness by the time the ambulance arrived.

It cast gloom over the NCIS building. The docent tours postponed, the five remaining out-of-town nominees were hustled off behind scenes somewhere and treated to glib remarks by a hauled-in-for-this-purpose agent whose nickname was "Mr. MC" (Master of Ceremonies), while they all waited for news.

They didn't have long to wait. After a short period of time, word came that Randy Klemp had died at the age of 47.

Tony shook his head. "What a mess. To come all this way and then die of a heart attack before the ceremony even happens…"

"Did he have family?" Ziva asked. "I did not want to snoop into his records, but…"

Gibbs looked grim. "I'd heard there was a wife; couple of kids. Teenage son drove him to the airport, he'd said."

"What does that do to your chances, McGee?" Ziva wondered.

"Nothing, I'd imagine," Tim said a little harshly. "I'm sure the decisions were already made, and as I said before, I didn't stand a chance in winning." With a bit of emotion that he recognized as being self-pity, Tim regretted that he'd now never get to meet this fabulously talented man. Randy Klemp had not been an agent; he had modestly described himself as just being an "IT guy." He was not required to have the agent's fitness, which may have spoken to his having a beer belly, and that might have been his undoing. But NCIS had been lucky to have him and his brilliant mind. _"IT guy", indeed._ He was behind some of the amazing programs only seen by people on MTAC or in the Office of Special Projects, in Los Angeles.

Tony, for once, clued into Tim's turmoil. "So it'll be a posthumous award for him? Unless your girlfriend Lori whatzername gets it? Or it goes to her as runner-up?"

"I don't know, Tony." Tim threw up his hands. "I don't know how these things work. And she's _not_ my girlfriend!"

"Don't rule her out, Probie. A lot of women are taking second looks at younger men these days."

"Can we try to get some work done here?" Gibbs snapped.

Time out in the field would have been welcome. It so often made the day go by quickly. But no new, material developments were forthcoming in their current case, so the team rode their desks, worked their phones, and struggled to release data held in computer storage banks.

And then, in mid-afternoon, Gibbs was summoned to Vance's office. He returned a few minutes later, looking disturbed. "There's an email going out to everyone," he said quietly, after beckoning his team to his desk. "The awards ceremony has been postponed indefinitely. When Lori Averand didn't show up to work today, someone from her office went out to check on her. They found her dead in her bathtub. Evidently she'd slipped and hit her head."

Tony whistled. "Is your category jinxed, or what, McGee?"

"That's pretty cold, Tony," Tim said, stunned. He _had_ met Lori Averand, and liked her.

"Yeah, well. I guess you're right," Tony mumbled. "Sorry."

"So the awards…they will not be given out?" asked Ziva of Gibbs.

"They'll be given out," said Gibbs. "But we don't know when yet. The other nominees will be going home now."

His people slowly went back to their desks. Tim, in shock, could only think, _I may never find out who the winner of our category was._ He turned back to Gibbs' desk. "Boss…you always say that you don't believe in coincidences…"

"Let it go, McGee," Gibbs said tiredly. "I say a lot of things. Yes, there are coincidences. But two excellent nominees dying on the same day is one of the saddest ones I can think of."

"Yes, boss." Tim swallowed and nodded. The best thing he could do at this point, he knew, was immerse himself in work.

_So much for limelight..._


	3. The Replacement

**Chapter 2: The replacement**

- - - - -

_Three weeks later…_

Tim's eyes followed the rapid flash of numbers across his screen. Somewhere in there was a pattern, he was sure. But to what? This new case had him stymied.

"McGee!" Gibbs' call interrupted his train of thought. "The Director wants to see you in his office. Now."

Feeling vaguely guilty, as most people do when taken by surprise, Tim flushed as he stood up. He could see the amusement in Tony's eyes, although Tony didn't comment. Without waiting to give him an opportunity, Tim bounded up the stairs to the third floor.

"Sit down, McGee," Leon Vance greeted him with more warmth than Tim had even seen in him. Nothing had been said at NCIS about the postponed awards ceremony since the email from Vance on the day of the two deaths, but Tim hoped there would be something…_something_…He yearned for closure.

_Closure_ didn't seem to be on Vance's mind, however. "McGee, I have a special assignment for you. We're in need of your talents on this one."

"Sir?"

"NCIS has been extremely fortunate to hire Charlie Ott away from the Justice Department. He starts work here tomorrow."

There was a pause, and Tim realized a response was expected from him. "Charlie…Ott? I don't think I know him, sir."

"Well, I'm never sure how scuttlebutt other than agent-related stuff travels, so I didn't know if you'd heard of him or not. He's a brilliant mind; one who has created some of the most amazing computer programs I've ever seen for the Justice Department. He's worked there for five years, and has gotten a little bored, as the very bright ones sometimes do. So he'd quietly put out feelers for jobs with other agencies and…"

"We got him," Tim finished the thought.

"Yes, indeed we did." Vance looked almost gleeful. "He's going to take the place of poor Randy Klemp in San Diego. But we need to orient him to NCIS' special needs, for our work is of course different from that of the Justice Department. So we'll give him a couple of months working here to start. I need you, our best tech person on site, to work with him and show him what our requirements are. I'll email you with the details of the projects Klemp had been working on, and things he hadn't gotten to yet, as well as my wish list."

"Yes, sir. But my team…"

"Oh, you still have your job to do, of course. I'm sure you can juggle your schedule."

_Management! Grrr._

"Yes, sir," Tim said out loud, pushing his distaste to the back of his mind and keeping his face bland. "Will we start tomorrow?"

"Hit the ground running," said Vance, followed quickly by a look of dismissal. Tim left.

- - - - -

Gibbs wasn't happy with the news. After years of working with the man, Tim could read him well. Gibbs wouldn't voice his displeasure; he wouldn't undermine his boss to the staff like that. But it still showed on him. "Fewer field assignments for you, then, McGee. I can't bring you out to Virginia only to have you called back in because the new guy wants a second opinion on the color setting on a monitor."

Tim bit back a smirk. "I might be able to coordinate our times so that I'm available for the team in the mornings, and then I work with him in the afternoons," he offered.

"Work is usually not that smooth," Gibbs sighed. "But, we'll try it."

As Gibbs left to get a fresh cup of coffee, Tim felt Tony's and Ziva's eyes on him. "What?" Tim said with some irritation.

"It just seems weird, Probie, that you would be training a guy to do a job that probably should be yours," Tony said seriously.

"You _do_ have six years with NCIS," Ziva nodded. "Should that not count for something?"

_The trouble with working with people for years is that they can read you as well as you can read them._

Blushing a little, Tim said, "Maybe. If I'd concentrated on computer work more. Or if I'd taken more courses in it, post-grad…But I'm a special agent, and he's not. Computers is all he does. So…I'm sure he's a lot better qualified for the job."

"Don't sell yourself short," Tony put in. "I think within a couple of months _you_ could be designing amazing things."

"Maybe," Tim said again. But his mind was racing. _I could…I probably could. I could really be someone within NCIS, instead of just a faceless agent…_

Instead, it hadn't even occurred to him that with Klemp's death, there would be a job opening. One that he could have put in for, had he known about it…He shrugged and dismissed the thought. _All this stupid nomination process has gone to my head. I haven't worked, _really_ worked at developing my tech skills. People like Randy Klemp did it every day._

- - - - -

"McGee? Tim McGee?"

Tim and his teammates looked up in surprise at the man who'd caught them unawares the next morning.

"Didn't mean to startle you. The name's Charlie Ott." Smiling broadly, the man extended a hand. He was average height, a little overweight, with tousled dark hair and dark eyes. Smile lines crossed his face like it was a permanent home to them. He exuded likeableness.

Ziva noticed the visitor's badge. "No one met you at the entrance? Usually a new hire is met there by management, given their credentials, and escorted in."

"Nope. Guess I flew under the radar," Ott grinned, and turned back to Tim. "I recognized you from the picture Director Vance showed me, Tim. I hear you're the genius I'm going to learn from. I appreciate the help!"

"Glad to do what I can," Tim smiled back, warming to the fellow. He introduced Ziva and Tony, and they all chatted.

Gibbs showed up, and looked a little surprised at seeing Ott. "We weren't expecting you for another hour," he said. "I'll take you up to Vance's office; there's the usual amount of personnel paperwork work that has to be done. Then we'll get you oriented."

"Nice guy," Tony remarked once Gibbs and Ott had gone.

"He seems pleasant enough," Ziva agreed. "How old would you say he is, McGee?"

Tim looked at her in surprise. "You're as good a judge of these things as I am…better, even. But I'd guess 32, 34."

Her eyes twinkled. "You have not pulled up his personnel record yet?"

"No. And I wasn't intending to." Gibbs had recently smacked all three of them for too much unauthorized snooping into people's records.

"So…what did your Mossad powers of observation tell you, Zee-vah?" Tony asked, grinning.

She smiled. "No wedding ring…"

"Chicks always notice that detail."

"Men do, too. They just choose to ignore it."

"Ouch! The lady assassin is sharp today!"

Ziva went on, moving slowly around her desk as she did so. "Not even a lighter skin tone on his finger indicating there had once been a ring. He did have a certain rumpled quality about him, leading me to believe there is no female to look out for him, to see that he does not leave home in mismatched socks. Yet his clothes are tailored. He likes finer things. But he needs a better haircut. Still, he is an adventurous sort, which is good for a designer. He came up to the squad room by himself."

Tony frowned. "Yeah, what's with that? After the shooting here two months ago, Security is not supposed to allow guests to wander unaccompanied. They're supposed to call someone for an escort."

"Unless the guest is on the list of known guests. Like Fornell," said Ziva.

"We have no idea how long the list is," said Tim. "Ott could already be on it."

"That seems to be the likeliest answer," Ziva agreed.

"Well, I don't want to make a big deal of it," Tim said, shuffling some papers on his desk. "He's a good guy, and he'll be a credit to the agency. Vance thinks highly of him."

"And maybe he'll take you along with him when he goes to the West Coast?" Tony grinned.

Tim gave him a look. "I don't want to go to the West Coast. I like DC. I just wish…"

"What do you wish, McGee?" Ziva asked after the pause.

He waved his hand. "Oh, you know. Like I could do some work like that here. And still be an agent," he added hastily.

"You want to squeeze 15 hours of work into a nine-hour day, and still only get paid for nine hours," Tony summed up. "You are a workaholic, Probie. But you're _our_ workaholic, thank heavens."

Tim grew red. "Eh," he said, dismissively, while thinking, _But I wouldn't mind a little recognition…_

- - - - -

That afternoon Tim took Charlie Ott on a tour of the NCIS building. They started with Abby's lab.

"So, you're replacing that poor man who had the heart attack?" asked Abby. "How horrible! I hope the people in San Diego don't treat you badly for it."

Ott only grinned. "The first time I show them what I can do for them, I'll have them eating out of my hand."

"Maybe you can write a program for me sometime?" said Abby. "I never really got into writing code…I don't have the patience for it."

"Write down what you'd like, and I'll try to squeeze it in, Abby. Don't know when that will be, but as long as you don't need it right away…"

"Oh, thank you! _Thank_ you, Charlie!" Abby hugged him, to Tim's slight annoyance. Abby had never said anything to _him_ about wanting a program written…He shrugged, writing it off as Abby being Abby.

Abby went on. "Well, learn all you can from McGee while you're here. He's our shining star, though he's very, _very_ modest about it."

Charlie grinned again. (Did he ever stop grinning?) "I can see that. Modesty has its place, I guess, but you don't rise to the top without parading your skills, buddy. Just remember that."

_How much is Vance paying him?_ Tim wondered suddenly, after a brief glow in Abby's praise. More than likely, it was a _lot_ more than a special agent with six years in made. He cleared his throat. "There's a lot more to see, Charlie. Let's move on to Autopsy."

"Autopsy?! I may have a year or two on you, Tim, but I'm not dead yet!" Ott laughed at his own joke. "I'm not sure what computer programs might help in that department, but I'm willing to learn. Lead on!"

- - - - -

Tim, off to the side, watched in amusement as one of Ducky's stories made Ott's eyes glaze over. The subject had started out to be computer use, but Ducky had somehow wrapped it into a tale of being in Brazil in the 1960s with a team of scientists who had fled WWII, and a team of beautiful female horse traders and machete masters.

"But, Dr. Mallard…" Ott began.

"…so that is why forensic medicine today requires ever greater technology, to be able to analyze materials down to the cellular level," Ducky finished.

"Wouldn't that put Abby out of a job, though?" Ott looked troubled, for once. Tim had not missed the looks he'd given the goth in her lab, but who could blame the man? He'd also given Ziva the once-over when he thought no one was noticing him. (Not that an agent would miss that.)

"Hardly, my boy! Hardly!" Ducky crowed. "There is so much more that our Abigail does that impacts on my territory not at all. Not at all. When you get an email address established here, I shall send you a list of my requirements. You'll see the wisdom of it immediately, I am certain."

- - - - -

When the day ended, Tim was tired. He'd introduced Ott to so many people and shown him so many departments, ranging from Legal to Security. Most would not require anything from Ott, but Tim wanted to show him the scale of the agency.

Their return to the squad room found that Tim's team had gone out on assignment. "Rats; I would have liked to have gone along," said Ott. "Though if it's dangerous, maybe not. I'm not a very brave type."

"Training overcomes a lot of fears," Tim said offhandedly, while secretly feeling pleased that this was something he could do better than Ott could.

"I guess. I don't think I'd want to try it, though. I don't even like riding roller coasters," Ott laughed. "Well, day's done, gone the sun. See ya tomorrow, Tim."

"Good night," Tim said, trying to get his warring feelings to settle down. _I'm not jealous of Charlie…am I?_


	4. The GreenEyed Monster

**Chapter 3: The green-eyed monster**

- - - - -

_Two weeks later…_

_Snap. Snap._ "No, we're still talking about programs. Nothing's been written yet." _Snap._ Tim positioned the camera and shot the crime scene debris from another angle. _Snap._

"Well, Rome wasn't built in a day, I guess," said Tony, bagging evidence. "But still, I'd have thought that you and the Mastermind would have _something_ to show by now for all of your _t__ête-a-têtes__._"

Privately, Tim thought so, too. But he said, "It's slow going. Ott doesn't 'get' NCIS yet; not really. The Justice Department was all about civilian life. He doesn't have any military people in his background, so the Department of Defense is a new universe to him."

"But the crimes are similar, for the most part," said Ziva, staying one step ahead of Tim with the tagging. "Extortion. Theft. Murder. And so on."

"I know. It's hard to explain," said Tim.

"But you think you could do it better," said Tony, his eyes twinkling.

Tim turned away so they couldn't see the bitterness on his face. It was true. Tim had read the list of projects in development and Vance's wish list, and thought that he could probably do a good job with them. Certainly faster than Ott, at the current pace.

_Be fair,_ he told himself. _Your advantage is that you understand how the Navy and the Marines operate. He doesn't. But he's still vastly more talented than you are._ "No, I doubt it," he answered Tony. "He's got a lot more experience than I do."

"Hey! Less talk; more work!" Gibbs ordered.

_Snap._ The ground was muddy; a summer shower that had ended around the time they had arrived at the scene wound hinder their investigation. Tim was being careful not to slosh mud onto anything. _A program that could filter out organic layers, and see what's underneath…_ he thought, and then shook his head. _That's not my job. I wasn't hired to develop computer programs and modules. Besides, don't we already have something similar...?_

_But that shouldn't mean I couldn't work on something like that in my spare time…_

Ducky and Jimmy had loaded the body into the Autopsy van, and with a wave, headed back to NCIS. It would be a long drive; they were two hours into Virginia.

Tim's cell phone rang then. "Yeah, okay. We'll be awhile in getting back, though. I'll see you then."

"What did Ott want?" Tony asked as he stowed the evidence in the MCRT truck.

"How did you know it was Ott?"

"Because you get that look on your face when he calls. Like you've bitten into a lemon."

"I do not!"

"You do, McGee," Ziva laughed. "You look mildly annoyed when Charlie calls you."

"I'm…busy. That's all. Working with Ott and doing my agent job—it's just a lot." He turned away and stomped back to the truck, claiming the shotgun seat before Tony could get there.

- - - - -

They stopped for lunch on the way back as it was close to 2 and they were famished.

Tim's phone rang again. Tim looked at the ID, sighed, and took the call. "Charlie, I'll be there in an hour or so. Hang loose until then."

"You seem to be indispensible, McGee," said Ziva, over her salad and soup.

Gibbs frowned. "McGee, you still owe me the report on the Pullman case."

Tim flushed. "I know, boss. I'll finish it before I go home tonight." He noticed that Gibbs only nodded, but didn't look pleased. _Last thing I need is to have Gibbs on my case…oh, well; only about six more weeks and Ott will be out in San Diego…_

"He seems to be pretty popular with everyone," said Tony, while making the ice swirl in his Coke glass. "Ducky loves him. Palmer loves him. Abby says he likes her music, so she's claimed him as a bosom buddy. I haven't heard a bad word about him from anyone. Just a genuinely nice guy."

"You like him, too, Tony?" Tim was surprised.

"Well, yeah. We have some common interests. He's pretty knowledgeable on movies. We went to one of my clubs last Saturday and chatted up some of the young lovelies. He enjoys a good Philly cheese steak. What's not to like?"

_Maybe the fact that everything seems to be handed to him on a silver platter, while the rest of us have to work?_

"I just…no one can be _that_ perfect," said Tim, before realizing he'd spoken out loud.

Tony chuckled, seeing his opportunity. "Oh ho! Methinks we're seeing the rise of the green-eyed monster! Is that so, Probielicious?"

Ziva looked perplexed. "McGee is entitled to his opinion, Tony. I do not think that makes him a monster."

"It's a saying, Ziva," Tony laughed. "It means _jealousy._ Jealousy is said to be a green-eyed monster."

"That's Shakespeare," Tim added, still embarrassed. " 'O! beware, my lord, of jealousy; it is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.' From _Othello._"

"If the Shakespearean shoe fits, Probie…wear it," said Tony.

"I am _not_ jealous of Charlie Ott."

Ziva smiled slyly. "I have worked with you for three years now, McGee. I can tell that you are jealous. But…if you want to feel that you are not, you may do so."

"Can we talk about the current case instead?" Tim pleaded. "Why are we always talking about _me_?!"

"You think we're always talking about _you_, McGreen-eyed?" Tony teased.

That made Tim more embarrassed than ever. It was even worse when Gibbs said, "Get a grip, McGee. You're no use to me if your mind is flying in a dozen different directions."

"Sorry," Tim mumbled. "If everyone's finished eating, can we get back to NCIS?"

- - - - -

"I need you _here_, Tim," Charlie Ott said mildly when Tim walked into the office Ott was using in the sub-basement around 3:30.

"Sorry," Tim said. That was mostly due to his gentlemanly upbringing; not for really feeling genuinely sorry, although there was still a bit of that. "The other job has to come first, Charlie."

"But you're the NCIS resident genius!" Ott beamed. "The train doesn't leave the station if the engine's not there!"

Tim winced at the oddball metaphor. "You should be reasonably familiar with NCIS by now, Charlie."

"Reasonably, yes. But details count, Tim. I get hung up on legalities that the DoD uses, and I can't even keep track of the differences between Navy and Marines ranks. What the heck is all this E-4, O-2, alpha-numerics anyway??"

"They're rates, not ranks, strictly speaking," Tim said with slightly strained patience. " 'E' refers to enlisted personnel; 'O' to officers. An E-4 is a Petty Officer, third class in the Navy and a Corporal in the Marines. An O-2 is a Navy Lieutenant, JG , or a Marines First Lieutenant. I _did_ show you where to look up that stuff."

"Guess you did. Sorry. Should I be wearing stripes on my sleeve to show I'm military?"

He meant well, Tim knew, but Ott's humor grated on him today, just a bit. "We're civilian employees of the DoD; not military."

"You didn't serve in the Navy?" Ott looked genuinely surprised at the sudden thought. "I mean, I'd never take you for a _Marine_, Tim, but I thought…"

"Nope. My father had time in the Navy, but not me. There's no military service requirement to be in NCIS. Like a lot of federal agencies, though, they do give points in hiring to vets."

"I played with toy soldiers when I was a kid. Would that count?"

Tim smiled. "You already have the job. Let's look at what you've done on the current project…"

- - - - -

The conference with Ott took over three hours. Ott appeared to be startled by the time, but was unwilling to stay any later. He cast off hints of a date, and with a twinkle in his eyes, breezed out, promising to pick up where he and Tim had left off tomorrow.

Tim sprinted for the food court before it could close, and brought back a personal-sized pizza. He still had to do the case report for Gibbs.

All alone in the squad room for once, it was past 10 p.m. when Tim finally, tiredly, left for the day.

- - - - -

A fistful of papers slammed down on his desk just as Tim reached for his chair the next morning, one minute short of being late. "McGee! What is this?!" Gibbs thundered.

Feeling his boat sinking rapidly, Tim frantically retraced last night's steps in his mind, wondering what he had screwed up.

Gibbs leaned in, getting in his face. "I asked for the analysis of the phone records and the credit card history, and instead you gave me the bank history and…I don't know _whose_ phone records these are!"

_Oh, no. Oh, no._ "I…those look like the Dixon case records, boss. I must have mixed…"

"I can't take this to Vance. He's been waiting to send it to JAG!"

"Sorry," Tim mumbled, although he knew it was a word Gibbs didn't like to hear. "I'll fix it right away."

Gibbs' expression mellowed, and he sat on a corner of the desk. "McGee, you can't burn a candle at both ends. I know you like helping Ott, but you'll drop from exhaustion at this rate."

"Please don't tell me to 'work smarter, not harder', boss," Tim pleaded. "I hate that expression."

Gibbs smiled. "Okay. But you have to make some changes." He then walked off.

Tony stared at Tim when Gibbs left until Tim eyed him back. "Let me guess," Tony said, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "You and Charlie finished up around 6 or 6:30, leaving you to do your own work here until 9 or so."

"It was 10," Tim said crankily.

"Ziva's not in today, so I'll speak for her." In a falsetto, lightly accented voice, Tony continued, "McGee, it is obvious that you are still jealous of this Charlie Ott. You spend more time with him than you need to. You are hoping to shine in his lemon light, yes?"

" 'Lime light'…now cut that out, Tony!"

Tony smirked and resumed his normal voice. "Like the man said, you've got to slow down or you'll burn out. Stop being jealous of Ott's fame, and be proud of what you've accomplished."

_I've accomplished nothing. Nothing worth recognizing. That's the trouble._ With a grunt, Tim went back to work.


	5. The Rescheduled Date

**Chapter 4: The Rescheduled Date**

- - - - -

_The following week…_

Abby frowned as she looked at her intra-agency email. _Two quarantined spam messages today!_ That was unusual; NCIS had very good filters and so she rarely saw any spam at all. She deleted the messages and moved on with her day.

"Hi, Jimmy!" she greeted Ducky's lanky assistant as he came with a tray of slides. "You can put those down anywhere. You're not taking any classes this summer?"

He frowned. "No, the only one I really needed was withdrawn, so I thought, why bother…I'll just work fulltime, and earn money."

Jimmy looked eager as he said that, and Abby's heart melted. Washington was an expensive area to live in, and Jimmy stretched his money from his part-time hours working at NCIS as far as he could. But she altered the subject slightly to avoid embarrassing him. "Why was the course withdrawn? Not enough registrations?"

"I don't know. I applied online for it the first day registration opened, and paid for it. But then last week they said the course was being withdrawn. No explanation."

"Your tuition will be refunded, won't it?"

"Oh, sure. It'll come in due course. The important thing is that Dr. Mallard talked Director Vance into letting me work fulltime."

"Fulltime in the nuthouse. It doesn't get better than that."

Jimmy laughed, and went back to Autopsy.

- - - - -

As Tim typed up his findings on the case they'd started yesterday, he stopped when a small envelope at the bottom of his screen signaled that he had email. He brought up the email program. Nothing interesting there; a memo from Vance (oh, did Vance love doing memos!) to all agents, agency-wide, about blah-blah-blah. A notice from Human Resources about open season starting for changing health care plans. And the expected, daily message from Ott begging Tim to try to be on time for the afternoon session.

Tim minimized the email program, sighing, and went back to work. He was determined to stay current with his agent work, and now was just about caught up. Still, he was spending nearly every other night working late, and it was starting to take a toll.

Gibbs had sent Ziva and Tony out to follow a lead, tacitly giving Tim time to do desk work. Forcing his tired mind to concentrate, Tim found himself typing line after line of garble, and having to stop and correct it… _Huh. Usually I'm not this bad, even when I am sleep-deprived._

Finally he stopped and stared at it, seeing now a pattern. _Oh, man; don't let this be a virus…_

If it was a virus, it was unlike one he'd ever seen. Borrowing Tony's computer, he did a quick search of known anti-virus sites and found no reports of a bug that did what his was doing. That wasn't necessarily reassuring.

Protocol demanded immediate reporting of viruses to the NCIS Systems team over in building #200. Tim called, and before too long a few friendly techs arrived, puzzled over the problem, and took the hard drive away for testing. Tim had a back-up hard drive (which seemed unaffected), but it had only been backed up through last night. It was only when the techs left with his main hard drive that Tim realized this; that they were taking his morning's work away with them. He sat back with a sigh.

- - - - -

Ziva and Tony arrived back in time for lunch, and they and Tim went to the food court in building #21. "Tony and I were talking on the way back about the awards ceremony, McGee," said Ziva. "Have you heard when it will be held?"

"Nope. A lot of people seem to be talking about it, though," Tim said over his chicken sandwich. It had been weeks since the day the ceremony had been postponed, and it didn't bother him to talk about it now. Not _much_ anyway.

"It's almost July. September might be a good time. Or October," Tony said.

"Perhaps it will be deferred until next year."

"I doubt that, Ziva. They want to recognize people each year for their accomplishments. It would be taking away too much to have the nominees wait a year and…maybe not be nominated again. For morale, that would really suck."

"Like with you, Probie?" Tony said, with a wink.

"I'm over that, Tony. Really, I am," Tim lied. "As I said back then, I didn't stand a chance of winning, anyway. So it doesn't matter."

"Oh, it matters, McGee," Ziva said softly. "It must. Otherwise, there would be no appeal in these ceremonies. To be gathered with your peers…to hear your name called as a nominee…then the breathless wait for the announcement of the winner. The applause and the congratulatory hugs. We all thrive on the excitement." She rested her hand on his, gently. "Your moment in the sun was all too brief, and that was not fair."

"Well, that's Life," Tim said gruffly. The various awards were for categories of excellence that he was unlikely to ever achieve. _Marksmanship. Hand-to-hand combat. Number of cases solved. _And so on.

_I am just an ordinary cog in the machine, doing both field work and geek work and not rising to the top in either discipline. I like what I do, but it'll never get me recognition. _

_I'll just have to learn to live with that._

Putting a smile on his face, he said, "HR would know when the ceremony will be held. Isn't there someone in HR you can cuddle up to, Tony?"

Tony thought, and then made a face. "Oh, yeah. Fred Abernathy. The gorilla-man. I can just see us together."

"The one they call 'Hairy-knuckles Fred?' " Ziva smiled. "Come on, Tony; there _are_ women working in Human Resources."

"A few," Tony admitted, smiling as his mind raced through pictures. "Okay, I'll see what Yolanda…or Bette…or Aimee have to say…"

- - - - -

Vance called Tim to his office for a further discussion of a report he'd written. "I know computers better than Gibbs does, McGee, and _I _can't make heads or tails of this. I'm surprised that Gibbs signed off on this."

Tim flushed. "Sorry, sir. I'll rewrite it for clarity."

"See that you do. On my desk by 5 o'clock…no excuses."

"Yes, sir." Tim knew that Vance really did mean _no excuses_. Ott would have to fend for himself this afternoon.

On a thought, Tim turned back on the way out. "Sir? A question?"

Vance only looked at him, but Tim mustered his courage and plunged ahead. "Some of us were wondering…when the awards ceremony would be held."

"October 2. The Navy Yard's 210th birthday. It seemed like a fitting time for a celebration."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"McGee—you know that you're still not up for an award."

Tim felt his throat go dry, wondering where this was going.

"With the deaths of Klemp and Averand, we're not talking about that category just yet. And of course you were never seriously in the running for that, you know."

"Um…" That hurt. Vance could be brutally frank in his manager role, Tim knew. He didn't care much about sparing feelings. And maybe his anger at Tim's too-technical report had carried over. But still…

"Klemp and Averand both did outstanding work this year. _Outstanding_. Neither of them had been recognized for it in the awards ceremony for a couple of years. But we had to have a third name as a nominee; it doesn't do to have fewer than three, so the Nominations committee added your name to pad it out. You're local, you're tech-minded, no one would question it. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Tim managed to say.

"Fine. Back to work. 5 o'clock, on my desk, McGee."

"Yes, sir."

- - - - -

The team had gone out when Tim returned to the squad room. He was glad that no one could see his face. He felt so humiliated, he wanted to die.

_Of course Vance was right. I've never been in the same league as Klemp and Averand. Why did I ever think I was?? And to delude myself into thinking that I was nominated on my merits…!_

He phoned Ott to say that he couldn't work with him that afternoon. He got voice mail. Ott didn't answer his phone if he didn't feel like it, Tim had learned. Tim left a message, adding that Ott _should not_ call him, but rather wait to see him tomorrow.

It was a struggle to concentrate, but Tim somehow managed to get the report rewritten in language clear enough for an 8th-grader to follow, technical though it still was. He had to admit that it read better that way. _I've spent too much time with Ott. We speak geek when we get together; that's the problem. _

At 4:50 p.m. he left the revised report with Vance's secretary. Going back to the squad room, he stared at his computer vacantly. Six more minutes before he could sign out for the day. The team was still out.

The anomaly on the computer this morning still bothered him. He took viruses and similar threats as personal attacks.

Before doing a shutdown and restart for the night, he activated a small program he'd written some time ago; one he'd shared with no one. He'd put it on there when he'd suspected Tony was monkeying with his computer when he was away.

It would tell him if someone really was getting unauthorized access.


	6. The Hinkyness

**Chapter 5: The hinkyness**

- - - - -

_Two days later…_

It was when Tim logged onto his computer that morning, and remembered to fire up his little anti-snoop program the first thing, that he got what he might describe as the shock of his life.

From top to bottom, his screen filled with alerts.

_Change requested to Outlook. Allow? Yes No_

_Change requested to Internet Explorer privacy setting 1. Allow? Yes No_

_Change requested to Internet Explorer privacy setting 2. Allow? Yes No_

_Change requested to Internet Explorer privacy setting 3. Allow? Yes No_

_Change requested to Internet Explorer security setting 47. Allow? Yes No_

_Change requested to Internet Explorer security setting 49. Allow? Yes No_

_Change requested to Internet Explorer security setting 61. Allow? Yes No_

_Change requested to Internet Explorer file sharing setting 2.5. Allow? Yes No_

_Change requested to Control Panel config setting 7 medium. Allow? Yes No…_

It scrolled out of sight. He estimated there were close to 100 lines in it. Fortunately there was a button at the bottom for _allow all_ and one for _deny all_. He selected the latter, after marking that yes, he did want to save a history of the attempted changes.

He couldn't do much about this during work hours, but he would certainly stay late tonight to get to the bottom of this.

- - - - -

Gibbs trotted down the stairs from the third floor. "McGee! Did you save a copy of the file that you gave Vance on Tuesday?"

"Yes, boss; of course."

"Email it to Czanocki in Legal. They couldn't scan in the paper file for some reason. Some problem with the scanner."

"Um…I could go look at the scanner," Tim offered, rising.

Gibbs waved him down. "Not paying you to be a repairman, McGee. Just email the file and be done with it."

"Okay, boss." Tim did so, but his curiosity swelled. And while Gibbs' statement was true, Tim _was_ often called upon to be a tech repairman, for all varieties of tech. _Why should my system be the only one under attack today? Is there a connection?_

- - - - -

He mentioned this to Ott when they worked together that afternoon. "You notice anything hinky about your computer today, Charlie?"

"Did I notice anything…_what?"_ Ott was only halfway paying attention while he tapped on his keyboard.

"Hinky. Did you notice anything hinky?"

"That I heard. I just don't know what it means."

"You don't know what 'hinky' means?! LEOs use it all the time."

"Who is this Leo guy?"

"_Charlie!"_ Tim slammed his fist on the desk. "I've told you this before. This is jargon common across several agencies. A LEO is a Law Enforcement Organization—"

"Huh. It meant 'low earth orbit' in my physics class in—"

"—and 'hinky' means 'weird, unusual, unexpected'."

"Sounds woo-woo to me. Do I really have to know that?"

Tim sighed. "Yes, you do, Charlie. The programs you write have to understand and allow for agency jargon, because people are going to use it." He ran a hand through his hair. "Are you even _trying_ to learn the stuff I've been pushing at you??" At the surprise on Ott's face, Tim felt bad. "Sorry. Sorry. That was uncalled for. I know you're trying."

"I'm a tech guy, not a word guy, Tim. I always have to have someone rewrite the documentation for programs I write, because I can't convey what's in my mind."

"Sorry," Tim said again. "I didn't mean to explode. I've just been so impossibly busy lately that it's making me crazy. On top of that, my computer has been doing some weird things these last few days."

"Really? Want me to take a look at it? I might be able to diagnose the problem."

"Nah, it's okay. Our tech guys have taken it away for repair or whatever. And then the scanner up in Legal went on the fritz today, too."

"I could look at that."

Tim laughed. "You want a doubled salary? You want to be a live-in repair guy?"

"If I get to wear a cool shirt with my name embroidered on it…heck, yeah!"

They both laughed and high-fived.

- - - - -

At the end of the afternoon, Tim said good night to Ott and went back to the squad room. He knew he hadn't told Ott everything. Deliberately.

He had suspicions about Ott now.

Not deep ones. At least, not yet.

But suspicions, nonetheless.

- - - - -

Tim worked far into the night (once determining that Ott had, indeed, left the building). He pulled up the saved history of attempted changes to his software, and was baffled by…the audacity of it all. It was as if an invading army was attempting to maliciously take over everything he was attempting to do, and redirect it…where?

_I need a second opinion on this,_ Tim thought, noticing his hands were shaking. _Someone not here. Someone not likely to spill the beans._

He checked the time, and then double-checked the big wall clocks. 7:07 p.m. in L.A. His phone call was answered on the second ring. _"Tim McGee? That you?"_

"Yeah! Thanks, Callen. I need some help…on the very hush-hush."

"_That's my territory. What can I do for you, Tim?"_

"I didn't get to know your OSP team very well in the few days I was out there with Gibbs. Is there someone on it you can recommend who can look at a computer file for me? It's a series of malicious suggested changes to the operating system, and—"

"_Whoa. Slow down. I'm not much better at computers than Gibbs is. But send it to Eric Beal. He's smart, and I'll tell him to be discrete."_

"Will he be? Discrete?"

"_Oh, sure. I'll tell him it's cloak and dagger stuff, and he'll think he's living out of one of the comic books he reads. Trust me; you'll make his day. Let me give you his email address…"_

An hour later, Tim had an email reply.

_Hey, Tim! How're you doing?_

_Eric here. I looked at the file you sent me, and…you must really have some enemy. That's one nasty piece of work. Someone's really gone to a lot of trouble to get at the heart of all of the information that your computer has on you, including stuff that you probably didn't realize it was storing. If you had allowed access to those programs, whoever did this could pretty much assume your identity and finger you for any crimes he committed; it would look so much like you had done it._

_Can I see a copy of your customized anti-virus program? It sounds way cool._

_In case you want details, I'm attaching a list of my findings._

_Best,_

_Eric_

Feeling a chill, Tim closed down the computer and went home. Something was very, very wrong.

- - - - -

_The next day…_

"McGee!"

Tim was busy pulling up work records on a suspect the next morning and didn't hear the first call. He didn't hear the second one, either, until it was accompanied by his coffee mug being waved in his face. "Is this stuff turned on? Are you sleep-typing, McGee?"

"Oh! Abby! Sorry. What's up?"

"Something's hinky with one of my computers. Can you come look at it?"

"Abby, you know as much about debugging as I do. Why do you need me?"

"Because you really _do_ know more, Mr. Modesty, and besides, I tried and I'm stumped. It's either you or Charlie, and I hate to bother him because his work is important." Seeing his face, Abby added quickly, "Not that _your_ work isn't important, because it is, it is, but could you just—I'll only borrow him for 5 minutes, Gibbs. Half an hour, tops! Thank you!"

Tim doubted that Gibbs had agreed at all, but he followed Abby out, anyway.

- - - - -

"When did you start noticing problems with the computer, Abby?" Tim peered at the machine and did a few quick tests.

"This one is named Henrietta, and she's new. Please show her some respect and don't just call her 'this computer'," Abby said primly. "She's eager to learn."

"Okay…Henrietta. When did she start having trouble?"

"Just yesterday. More so today. She's sluggish, which isn't like her, and…stuff I put in her yesterday is missing."

"Sounds like one or more files is corrupted."

"Well, that's what I thought, but why this particular stuff? This is for a sensitive project Vance asked me to work on part-time. If someone had hacked my system, I would expect it to be copied and stolen, whole. But this is chinks…keywords…like someone is nosing their way around the stuff without being sure of what they have."

"Now you're speculating," Tim scolded lightly, although his own throat had gone dry. "Our systems are very secure. Don't attribute to maliciousness what is probably just Henrietta having…a bad day."

Abby stared at the computer. "Girl, I understand we have our days, but we're here to perform. So let's get rolling."

- - - - -

When Tim returned to the squad room, Gibbs was not around, but Tony was causing a minor commotion on the phone. "…paid for it with my credit card, on your website! It was $59.95, and yes, I do have the order acknowledgement. Yet you charged my account _$599.50!_...You can _bet_ I'll be disputing those charges!" He slammed down the phone. "_Love_ John Wayne, but the DVD collection of his greatest comedies is _not_ worth $599.50," he muttered.

Ducky came up to the team. "I hope you can avoid needing the services of Mr. Palmer and myself today," he said, wringing his hands. "Mr. Palmer is in quite a state."

"Is he ill, Ducky?" Ziva asked in concern.

"No, more like in a state of shock. He's been waiting and waiting for his tuition refund for the course he'd signed up for, and just found out that it was wired and yet…disappeared before getting to him. The school says they sent it to him, and won't replace it. That's a lot of money for the lad," he said, sorrowfully. "I would give it to him myself, but his pride would never allow it." He left to go back to Autopsy.

"Is that not a strange coincidence?" Ziva remarked. "Tony losing money, and now Jimmy?"

_Hardly a coincidence,_ thought Tim. _But I can't prove anything…not yet._

If he were to play it by the book, he would take his suspicions of malicious hacking up the chain of command. _But they'd never believe me. They'd say I'm just jealous of Ott, and I'm still not over the missed awards ceremony. I'll be a laughingstock. And we shouldn't tip Ott off._

_No, this is something I've got to investigate on my own._

_No matter what happens._


	7. The Social Engineer

**Chapter 6: The Social Engineer**

- - - - -

_The following week…_

Tim had tried to avoid thinking about the work problems over the weekend. While he had long been granted access to breach the NCIS firewall from his home computer, for times he needed to work at home, he was not about to let his home computer become infected. So he played with his dog, went to a movie, and turned his mind over and over, seeking ways to address the problem.

On Monday, he slipped into work early…not _too_ early, to raise suspicion…and logged on. Ott, he knew, disdained working weekends and rarely showed up before 9. There should be time to do what Tim needed to do.

Tim had been down this slippery slope before; hacking personnel files. After the slap-downs that he, Tony and Ziva had received for doing this on larks, you'd think that someone would have put up blocks preventing anyone from this hacking…but no. Sometimes it really was necessary to do it, for the job. An NCIS hire could be suspected in a crime. Yes, a call to Human Resources would get the information needed…when HR got around to it, that is. Or unless the contact there decided to get huffy and claim that the information was "confidential; creating a contretemps that required Management get involved to calm tempers.

No, if Ott really was behind the computer troubles, he needed to be stopped, quickly. Tim was perhaps most alarmed by the disappearance of data from Abby's computer…if this was a top-secret project, was the invader considering selling the information?

_I could do some other hacking and find out what this top-secret program is…_ He dismissed that thought immediately. _Way to get yourself fired; maybe even arrested for espionage, McGee._ No. Determine if there is probable cause to suspect Ott, document it, and then…it could all go to someone higher in the chain. Someone with the authority to do something.

But it all started with hacking.

Hacking…

_When I was younger, and somewhat naive, I would never have stooped to hacking. It's morally wrong. I still believe that. My parents taught me right from wrong, and they'd never condone this._

_I've done it, reluctantly, when I have been asked to for NCIS. Having someone superior to me directing me to do so made it a little less wrong. Sometimes you have to think like a criminal to fight crime, I know. But even though hacking was a little bit thrilling, a bit like a game, I've always been bothered by it. Even in the time or two that I suggested doing it. Even when Tony and Ziva and I did it for fun, I still felt guilty._

_The look that Gibbs had when he caught us at it, and reprimanded us…it wasn't so much anger, as disappointment. It hurt to see him look that way. I felt so very ashamed that I'd let him down like that. And I promised myself that I'd never do it again, unless ordered to._

_And yet, here I am, about to do it._

_What's my excuse now?_

_Am I going to save NCIS?_

_Or does something about Charlie Ott just get under my skin?_

Taking a deep breath, he typed in the access code to the personnel system.

- - - - -

The data came up quickly, as he knew it would. Charles Anton Ott, born in Elmira, New York in 1975. Yadda yadda yadda. Tim looked for the background check, but the only one he found was sketchy and nearly six years old. He frowned, and then remembered that Ott had been a personal hire of Vance's. The Director had the authority to hire whomever he wanted, skipping over certain other requirements. Probably the background check that the Department of Justice had done way back when was sufficient.

_Money. Follow the money, as the saying went. _He looked at the trail of Ott's pay, and grimaced. In-demand tech developers made significantly more than put-their-lives-on-the-line agents did. Still, one wouldn't get rich that way; not working for the government.

Ah; there was Ott's agency credit card, issued by the Department of Justice. Fortunately, those records had filtered over to NCIS so Tim didn't have to face hacking the DoJ. NCIS had yet to issue Ott a credit card. Tim started at the beginning of its history. One business trip the first year to Philadelphia; unremarkable. Two trips the following year: one to Pittsburgh and one to Cleveland. Also unremarkable.

But then in the fourth year, Ott was suddenly doing a lot more traveling, including abroad. Okay; he would be more experienced and more in demand. There was an even higher level of activity in his last year there.

Tim pulled up the pdf files of the credit card transactions. Hotel room charges, meals, transportation…all the stuff the government required be paid by charge card. The meals would be hard to check, but the hotel and plane tickets might lead somewhere. He did a search on the first three hotels listed, and was not surprised to find that the rate was not even close to the rate charged. Same thing with the plane tickets.

The charge cards, Tim knew, were billed to the owner. The government then reimbursed the card owner.

Ott had doctored the files, evidently to claim a larger reimbursement than he was entitled to. He was profiting at least $1000 per business trip. It was a good little scam; one unlikely to be uncovered on a standard audit unless the auditor was comparing expenses to someone else with the same accommodations…which probably wouldn't happen.

Okay, that was temptation, certainly. Not large-scale crime, but still illegal.

But what if that had only made Ott greedy? What if he had decided to use his talents to scoop up money from other sources?

He backed out of the personnel system as Ziva arrived. "You are here early, McGee," she said with a smile. "I am beginning to think, perhaps you have given up sleeping, yes?"

"Not quite," he smiled back. "Ziva…have you had any computer problems here in the last few days?"

"Not that I have noticed, no."

"Nothing at all odd? It seems that everyone else has."

"No. Why?"

He thought and thought. Somewhere there was a clue…but what was it?? In desperation, he said the first thing that came to his mind. "Have you talked much with Charlie Ott?"

"Charlie Ott?"

"Yes. You know who he is."

"Of course I do. But no; I have mostly avoided him, I admit. There is something about him that I do not like. Maybe he is just a little too friendly, as some of you Americans are. He, how do you say it, 'rubs me the wrong way'."

_Ah hah! Ah hah!_ Tim had to restrain himself from jumping up and down. Instead, he hugged Ziva quickly. "Thank you! Thank you! Do me a favor, and keep your distance from him!"

"But why? What is this about?"

"I'll tell you later!!" He ran off, just as Tony and Gibbs were entering the squad room to begin the day.

- - - - -

"Abby!" he said, bursting into her lab. "Tell me everything you can about Charlie Ott!"

"What a strange request, McGee!" she remarked, turning from Henrietta to face him. "You've spent more time with him than anyone else, by far."

"I know, but humor me. What have you learned about him, the person?"

"Well…we have chatted some times. He's come to see me here, and asked questions about what I do."

"What has he told you about himself?"

"Not much, really. He's from New York. State, not City. And I know that he likes the finer things."

"Did he say that?"

"No, but I have eyes, Tim, which I know how to use. Unlike you men. Haven't you noticed the ruby tieclip he wears?"

_Tieclip?_ "Uh, no."

"Well, I have. You know how I like rubies. His are a pigeon-blood red, the most expensive color, and in a really fine cut. I'd estimate the cost of those three stones at being about $1200."

Tim whistled. "No wonder I don't wear tie clips! Thank you!"

He reached out to hug her, but she stepped back. "McGee, why all the questions about this nice man? Are you accusing him of something?"

"Uh…maybe. No. Not yet."

"It's not very becoming of you, McGee. Look, I know it must be tough on you; not getting your award that you deserve. And then this new guy comes in who's all hot stuff and you have to cater to him, and do your own job as well. But that's no reason to be jealous!"

"I'm _not jealous!!"_

She held him at arm's length. "McGee, the first step to solving your problem is admitting you have one."

"I don't have a problem. Abby—" He stopped and sighed. "Never mind. Forget it."

He left, clear in his mind what had transpired.

Charlie Ott was a social engineer.

Like online phishers, he gained the confidence of those around him by becoming friendly with them. By that, he was able to obtain enough information about them so that he could infiltrate their systems online.

A hack, and there went Jimmy's tuition refund.

A hack, and money was charged to Tony's credit card (and since it was really a debit card, Ott had siphoned it from Tony's bank account before he realized it was gone).

A hack, and Ott was frying bigger fish: the lucrative top-secret data Abby had stored. A hack, and he was fishing for valuable information from Tim…and likely, setting him up for a fall.

Who knew what he had done to Ducky's accounts? Gibbs, in his avoidance of computers, had probably not suffered. Ziva had escaped by not falling for the social engineering scheme.

Tim was about to step into the elevator when instead he ducked into a supply room and pulled out his phone. If Ott was trying to steal NCIS data from Abby, what might he have stolen (other than money) from the DoJ?

"Hello," he said when a voice on the other end announced _Department of Justice. _"I'm Special Agent Timothy McGee from NCIS. I need to speak to the Special Agent-in-Charge."

- - - - -

"_Those are strong charges you're making, Agent McGee."_

"I can't prove anything yet, Agent Knightly. I'm still working on it. I guess I'm really just phoning in a tip."

"_I understand. We'll look into it. If and when you do get more evidence, please call me, or have Director Vance call me. And thank you."_

Tim said his thanks, too, and hung up. She'd sounded nice, and he hoped she'd take the warning seriously. _Fat chance Vance would get involved, though._

A moment of despair ran through him. _What if I can't ever prove this? Who else is going to get hurt?_

- - - - -

He reentered the squad room. Tony and Ziva looked up at him curiously. "I hear you've been badmouthing my buddy Charlie, McGossip," Tony said, frowning.

"Tony, I—" Tim glared at Ziva, who only shrugged.

"Tony brought the subject up. I sided with you, McGee, saying I did not care for Charlie Ott, either."

_Did I say that?_ "Actually—"

"The thing that Ziva and I _do_ agree on, Probie, is that you are insanely jealous of Charlie's popularity and personality. You and Zee-vah are the only people in NCIS who do not like him. Just because you're a geek, McGee, doesn't mean you _have_ to be a dork too, you know."

"McGee," Ziva said apologetically, "perhaps you should just keep your opinions to yourself. This makes you look bad. The awards will come and go. So will Ott. Do not be jealous of him. It is not worth it."

"I'm not—"

"That's for sure, you're not," said Gibbs, coming up and thrusting a paper in Tim's face. "Not for awhile. You tripped a silent alarm when you hacked into Charlie Ott's personnel files this morning. This paper is your notice of your two-week suspension, taking effect immediately. Now get out of my squad room and my sight."

Tim was frozen, and it took a moment before he could move. When he did, he swiftly grabbed his backpack and gear, and left.

He would never forget the look on Gibbs' face. Barely covered by anger, that look of disappointment in him.


	8. The Bait

**Chapter 7: The Bait**

- - - - -

Tim arrived home before 10, finding he had the apartment all to himself. Jethro was evidently out with the dog walker and his circle of four other doggy friends.

_Two weeks' suspension. Two weeks without pay._

It was all starting to sink in. Losing the pay wouldn't kill him; despite his hedge fund losses, he still had money set aside for a rainy day. But the big black mark on his record! That was serious. It would block promotions for years…maybe for the rest of his career.

And he had let down Gibbs, after swearing to him the last time that he would never do it again.

He wasn't even sure, at this point, if he would be able to face the team again in two weeks.

- - - - -

It wasn't until the next day that Tim had the nerve to log onto his home computer to see if he could get through the NCIS firewall. Maybe they'd have terminated his access… Nope, he was in! No longer concerned about a virus, now that he was certain it was just phishing, he plowed ahead.

He would be a grade-A idiot to do anything prohibited now. He certainly wasn't interested in working any cases remotely, or in finishing the report on the current case that he had been halfway through. Gibbs would get one of the others to do it, or do it himself. No one was indispensible on the team.

But he needed to use all his wits now. Charlie Ott was still roaming free. Tim was barred from the NCIS building. _Score: 1-0._

He opened his agency email. There, at last, was the official notice from Vance of the rescheduled awards date. A couple notices from Legal on policy changes. And an email from Charlie asking why Tim was suddenly taking a few weeks off (Ott said he'd been told), when Charlie still needed him there?!

_The audacity of the fellow!_

On a thought, he began composing a message to Charlie.

_Sorry I can't be there, but I'm working on a very secret, need-to-know-only, project. You understand what that's like. I can concentrate on it better if I'm away from the noise of NCIS._

_--Tim_

He studied it for a moment, and then sent it. Yes, simple was best. With luck, this would be tantalizing to Charlie. And with luck, also, any of his coworkers who knew why Tim was really gone wouldn't tell Charlie he'd been suspended…but so what if they did? Charlie would probably interpret that as being a cover, because Tim himself had told him he was on a secret mission.

With a smile, he grabbed Jethro's leash and the two of them headed for playtime in the park.

- - - - -

As expected, when he returned, there was an email from Ott. Ott remarked, seemingly casually, on his use of the intra-agency email from seemingly offsite. _(Give it up, buddy. I'm not telling you where I really am.)_ He asked for Tim's opinion on a couple of matters related to his projects in development, and that was it.

Tim didn't think that was it. But he wasn't ready to dangle another breadcrumb, not yet. Wait to see how Ott played this. Tim emailed him back, giving comments on the projects, and offering nothing else.

_Bing!_ There was a reply from Ott, not three minutes later.

_Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly…_ But Tim was not at all confident that he could get what he wanted from Ott.

_Tim,_ Charlie wrote,

_It's kind of boring here without you around. I need a break from what I'm doing. Tell me about your project and I can give you a second opinion._

What to say; what to say…

_Wish I could, Charlie. But you know how it is._

Almost ten minutes went by before the reply came.

_Aw, come on. Who's gonna know? Besides, some of the stuff I've shown you is top-secret._

That last bit was true. However, Vance himself had brought Tim into that project, so there was no wrong-doing on that part. Rather than answer the question, Tim wrote back

_The more that I think about it, the less I like the grey background that you chose for the Litmus Test module. I think you want a dark background, like the navy blue standard on many of our web pages. Try that and shoot me back a copy._

Let him stew on that for awhile, and get frustrated over Tim's refusal to give him meat. Tim logged off, and went back to working on his next novel.

- - - - -

Over the next day, Ott became increasingly friendly in email and on the phone, mostly soliciting advice, but now and then, trying to wheedle information out of him.

He employed other social engineering tricks, to show the bond of his "friendship" with everyone. _Abby said this was what you liked to see in a database,_ went one message. Tim doubted that he and Abby had ever much discussed the fundamentals of databases. _Dr. Mallard said he misses you here, and hopes that your project won't keep you away too much longer._ Although Tim hadn't talked to a soul at NCIS—save Ott—since his suspension, he doubted that Ducky would miss him that much, this soon. Or convincingly play along with the "secret project" line.

Still, Tim worried—worried that he wasn't at NCIS to see what damage Ott might be doing. There was a risk that Ott would give up poking him, and invade some other restricted area. Tim couldn't let that happen.

One great unknown was what lengths Ott would go to to get what he wanted. In the back of Tim's mind, a small alarm had been going off ever since he had started to seriously suspect Ott. That alarm was for the timing of Ott's hiring. How convenient that NCIS would have a job opening right when Ott might have cleaned out the DoJ for as much as he could carry away.

_Was poor Randy Klemp's death really from natural causes?_

That ratcheted things up a notch, if Ott really was willing to kill in order to get into NCIS.

- - - - -

The next day Tim "accidentally" dropped a bit of jargon into an email to Ott, to see if Ott would do anything with it. The trouble was, without being able to snoop inside NCIS' computers, Tim's hands were tied about as tightly as they could be. Evidence of what Ott did with the jargon might night become apparent for days…if ever. But it was worth the chance, Tim thought, and he was rewarded when Ott emailed him awhile later asking about the jargon. Tim answered blandly, if not entirely truthfully. Ott had taken the bait.

_Hey, Tim;_

_Do you live very far away? If you don't have a long commute home, I was thinking we might get together for dinner. Have some beers, some laughs. Tony was saying how much you enjoyed doing that._

Tim shook his head. Ott was fishing, or phishing, for his address, and playing the social engineer-Tony card. Of course Tony would never paint Tim to be an after-work party animal, unless he was joking about it. But the way Ott put it, it sounded…flattering. _Man, is he good at this._

_Sounds like fun, Charlie,_ Tim wrote back, _but I'll have to beg off. This project has me working such odd hours when inspiration hits that I hate to schedule anything._

Ott was persistent.

_Where are you working? Is it in that building #200, over by N Street? I could meet you there; bring in a pizza._

Tim waited awhile until he thought of a good answer,

_Wish I could, but that's not allowed where I am. Boy, is the thought of pizza making me hungry._

He didn't hear from Charlie again for a couple of hours. Then…

_You must knock off sometime. Give me your address and I'll come by with Chinese take-out. Do you like spicy?_

Now this was getting almost scary. Tim assumed that he could take down Charlie if the need arose, but a wise agent never invited trouble.

He closed down the computer without answering the email.

- - - - -

_I'm getting nowhere,_ Tim thought, frustrated. _I'll never be able to prove anything about Ott, and I'll be stuck with this stupid black mark on my record…forever._

Then his phone rang.

"McGee, I thought you lived in email land," Ziva chuckled. "I have sent you three emails in the last hour and you have not answered any of them."

"Ziva! Hi! What's up?"

"You had asked me if I had noticed anything wrong with my computer."

"Yes?" Tim was determined to keep Ott's name unmentioned, so that he wouldn't be accused again of jealousy.

"Well…and I do not want to seem alarmist, but…today when I pulled up the case on the Whiggs Base ensigns…the restricted-access files because of the political involvement…I found strange data in there."

"Strange? In what way?"

"The ratings were wrong. Joderman was labeled as an O-3, Mirabelli an E-1, Parker an O-6. Those are not their ratings."

"No, they're not," Tim said with a grin so large it filled the room. "Thanks, Ziva!"

"But what does it mean, McGee?"

"Don't know yet. I'll tell you when I can."

He clicked his phone off, and then danced, startling Jethro, who barked, thinking his master wanted to play. "The best news, Jethro!" Tim cried. _"The best!"_

Ott had taken the bait. The jargon Tim had sent him was an overlay of three ratings; "corrections", Tim had said. If Ott had snooped in files, using the jargon as search terms, the overlay of the original data would show up.

_So…what do I do now?_

- - - - -

Again, Callen answered his phone on the second ring. Tim figured he acted fast; just long enough to read caller ID. _"Hey, Tim. Still having computer trouble?"_

"More like an invading human in the agency causing computer trouble," Tim moaned. "I need advice, Callen."

"_If my opinion's worth anything, it's yours to have."_

And so Tim told him the whole sorry story, going all the way back to the black day that the nominees' names leaked out, and ending with his suspension and the dirt he'd gotten on Ott. "What should I do?" Tim pleaded. "No one here trusts me at the moment. This guy might destroy NCIS if he isn't stopped."

Callen laughed. _"But you're shipping him out to San Diego in a few weeks, and then he becomes the West Coast's problem. Sorry; that just came to me. You haven't talked to Gibbs at all about this?"_

"No! The look he gave me when he told me I was suspended…"

"_Like he'd lost faith in you?"_ Callen asked gently.

"Yeah…"

"_Tim, you should know by now that sometimes doing the right thing means doing the hardest thing. You _have_ to tell Gibbs. He's your boss. Vance is the Director, but it's your own boss that you should be going to, 99% of the time. Part of his job is to get input from his team."_

"But…"

"_I've known Gibbs for many years. No matter how mad he gets, deep down inside, he'll always listen."_

Tim wasn't sure about that part, but he thanked Callen, anyway, and agreed to call him tomorrow to let him know how it had gone.

- - - - -

The sun was sinking in the summer sky when Tim pulled up in front of Gibbs' house. As always, the door was unlocked, and Tim let himself in.

He found Gibbs in his basement, working on the boat. "Boss…"

Gibbs wiped a sweaty hand over his brow. "McGee," he acknowledged, and then went back to sanding.

"I, uh, I need to talk to you about something."

"You're on a two-week suspension, McGee. Whatever it is can wait until you get back."

_I knew it. Callen was wrong._ "Sorry," Tim mumbled, and started back up the stairs.

Then he turned around, in anger. "You _lied_ to me!" he snapped. "You've told me, at least two or three times, that if ever I was in trouble on the job, I should come to you. 'Why didn't you come to me, McGee?' you've said. Well, now I'm in trouble, and NCIS is in trouble, and you're blowing me off! Was it a lie, boss? Has it always been a lie; something you've said and never meant?!?"

Gibbs set down the sander, looked at him, and sighed.


	9. The Meeting

**Chapter 8: The Meeting**

- - - - -

_Next day…_

Tim turned on a few more lamps in his apartment to ward off the encroaching darkness of evening. Dinner was over, Jethro had been walked, the dishes had been washed and put away. For once, he was just going to sit and watch some TV…

There went the door buzzer. Tim looked through the peephole, and then, hiding his grimace, opened the door. "Charlie!"

"Good evening, monsieur!" Charlie grinned and bowed. "I'll bet you've already eaten, but I brought a tiramisu and a six-pack. It's Friday; we can watch the Nationals game on TV and hang out."

Tim stood in the doorway, not moving to let him enter. "How—how did you find my address?"

Ott was still grinning. "Why, you gave it to me, Tim."

"No, I didn't. We hadn't made any plans to meet up, so why would I? How did you find it?"

"Oh, come on. You've probably just forgotten you gave it to me." Ott elbowed by him into the apartment.

"I don't think so. And my phone's unlisted." _On the advice of my publisher, in case fans found out my real name, but I haven't told Ott about Thom Gemcity, either._

"Well, who can keep track of things," Ott said breezily. "Anyway, I'm here. Let's celebrate the week-_end_!!"

Tim shrugged. "Have a seat, then. I'll get some plates and forks for the tiramisu."

After a few tasty bites and small talk, Ott asked, "So…do you ever work from home, Tim?"

Tim chewed and swallowed. "Sometimes. Not often."

"Oh, so NCIS allows that? The DoJ doesn't. They only want face time."

"I don't think many people at NCIS work from home. I was given permission to awhile back."

"You got any of your projects on your computer here, or on a flash drive?"

"Nope. I go through the firewall to work. It's as if I'm there."

"But you could log on now if you wanted to."

"Sure. But it's the weekend."

Ott opened a second beer. "I'd sure like to see what you're working on, as long as I'm here."

Tim laughed. "Charlie, _top-secret_ means just that. Only the Director and the Deputy Director know what I'm working on. Gibbs knows it's a project, but he doesn't know what it is. I can't tell you about it; sorry."

For a long few minutes, Ott watched the start of the baseball game on TV. Then he said, "Have you ever thought about making more money, Tim?"

"I suppose. But my day job takes most of my energy."

"But what if you could make it in the same hours…using a little job knowledge?"

Tim pulled back. "What are you saying, Charlie?"

"You learn things…facts, figures, and so on…every day. There's a value to information, Tim…"

"That sounds like espionage, Charlie!"

Ott waved a hand. "Aw, is it really? I mean, it's just a bunch of encoded numbers and such. If you give it to someone, is it your fault if they do something with it?"

"Are you saying you've done that, Charlie?"

Ott didn't answer that directly. "These projects Director Vance asked me to do…they're entertaining and all, but there's more to life than that."

"You mean, 'money'."

"I like good things, Tim. Good things cost a lot."

"So what are you asking of me?"

"I still can't get past the NCIS jargon. I've tried; it's not coming fast. If you could help me out…point me to the, let's say, _important stuff_, I'd make it worth your while."

"Important stuff."

"Yeah. Like the projects you're working on. They're worth something, I'll bet. Probably a huge amount of money. I'm a master at covering tracks, Tim. You just get me in and I'll make it look like you were never there."

Tim gave him a sour look. "People at NCIS have lost money lately. Were you behind that?"

"What if I was?"

Tim looked at Ott, sitting across from him, and saw now that he had drawn a gun. His eyes widened.

"I don't want to use force, Tim. But I'm determined to get what I came for. Log on, and get me what I want."

"Charlie…"

"I'm not just a geek, Tim. I think I can use this gun if I need to."

_And my own is across the room in my desk drawer._ "Charlie, why did you come to work for NCIS?"

Ott laughed harshly. "Because I cleaned the Department of Justice out of everything of value. It was time to move on. I've kept a watch on government personnel doings over the years, and when I heard that the legendary Randall Klemp was coming to DC, I thought I'd like to try on his job."

"You…killed Klemp." He'd guessed it all along, but the full revulsion and horror now hit Tim.

"I emailed him, introduced myself, and met his red-eye flight. Took him out to breakfast. Doctored his orange juice when he wasn't looking."

"You disgust me."

"I really am a good, friendly guy, Tim. But I have my limits. Now, get on the computer."

"That's enough, Ott. Hold it right there."

That was Vance, speaking, as he, Gibbs, and Special Agent-in-Charge Knightly of the DoJ stepped out of their hiding place in Tim's bedroom; guns drawn.

Slack-jawed, Ott didn't drop the gun until the second command to do so. "How did you…"

"We were expecting you," said Gibbs, handcuffing him. "In your eagerness to find out McGee's address, you resorted to hacking the personnel files this afternoon. You tripped a silent alarm. The funny thing is, NCIS is like a family. We trust each other. You could probably have asked half the workers at HQ, and any of them probably would have told you his address."

Agent Knightly sighed. "We at the DoJ are going to be spending a _year_ repairing the damage this guy has done. Ever since Agent McGee called us, and we started looking, we've been in a state of shock."

"Lose any top-secret stuff?" asked Vance.

Knightly glanced at Ott, and then pursed her lips. She wouldn't say anything, not in front of him. Vance nodded, understanding.

"We'll need Klemp's body exhumed. Do an autopsy," said Gibbs.

Vance sighed. "Yes. I hate to put the poor family through that, but it has to be done. Good job, McGee."

Tim brightened, for the first time since his suspension. "Thank you, sir." He noticed that Gibbs didn't say anything, but smiled slightly at Tim, before he phoned Tony and Ziva to come in and take Ott away. That was good enough for Tim.

"This changes things quite a bit," said Vance. "I trust you've had a nice little…_vacation_, McGee. We'll see you back at work Monday morning. Of course your back pay will be reinstated and this will be wiped off your record."

"Thank you, Director."

"Still jealous of Ott, McGee?" Gibbs asked with a smirk.

A long-gone twinkle returned to Tim's eye. "Let's see…he's going to prison, and I've been exonerated…no, no jealousy there, boss."

Gibbs did level a finger at him. "No more hacking, McGee. I mean it. You come to me first with your suspicions."

"Will do, boss." It felt good to say it, and really mean it.


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

- - - - -

_Friday, October 2, 2009…_

Even through the closed windows, the sounds of the Naval Academy band could be heard, drifting up from the park across the street. It was a glorious early autumn afternoon; warm without being hot, and bearing an aura of cheerfulness. Visitors to the Navy Yard for this, the 210th birthday celebration of the Yard's founding, were pleased that the weather was so cooperative. There were speakers and color guards and the Marine Silent Drill Team. Various agencies housed in the Yard gave away trinkets or sold refreshments at tables set up in the parking lot.

And inside NCIS, at 4 o'clock, the long-delayed 2009 NCIS Awards Ceremony was to be held.

In the largest conference room, Tim, Ziva and Tony took seats together, and waved to Abby, Ducky and Jimmy to join them. Gibbs disdained these things and would be out doing something useful: answering the tip line, perhaps, while Vance and everyone else enjoyed the ceremony.

"Did you know," said Ziva, as Abby sat down beside her, "that the silent-alarm program in the Personnel files that caught Charlie Ott was one of the last programs to be developed by Randall Klemp?"

"Wow. Wish I'd gotten to meet him," Abby sighed.

"Me, too," said Tim.

"That's the mousetrap that caught you, too, eh, Probie?" said Tony, giving Tim a poke.

Tim snorted, amused. They could laugh about it now. Ott was in jail, bail denied as a flight risk, and awaiting trial. Life had returned to normal.

And, thankfully, the team had not been called out on a case this afternoon.

Vance took to the podium, and the audience chatter died off. _"Thank you all for coming today to the annual awards ceremony. I am so proud to be able to give out so many awards to so many truly deserving people."_ There was a pause for applause.

"_First, I'd like to give out length-of-service awards. I'll read out the names and the pins and certificates will be handed out afterwards. For 10 years with the agency…"_

When it came to it, however, he did call up to the stage the recipients of the 30- and 40-year length-of-service awards, since there were so few of them.

Then came the categories that everyone had been waiting for. Strains of _The Stars and Stripes Forever _drifted in from outside, and over it, children could be heard shouting.

"_For outstanding job performance, the nominees are…"_ The nominees, and then the winner, were announced to great applause.

"_For personal enrichment, continuing one's education on one's own time to do a better job…the award goes to…Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard." _The team's row cheered wildly as Ducky got up with a flourish to accept his honors.

Many more awards followed. The audience never knew when to expect what. But then nearly all of the awards, seemingly, had been given out.

"_A special award this year was to be given out for Excellence in Applied Technology. The nominees were: Lori Averand, Randall Klemp, and Timothy McGee. Tragically, both Lori Averand and Randall Klemp died before the award could be given out. The Nominations committee had considered shelving the award, but then decided to give it out, nonetheless. And the decision—made before their tragic deaths—was a deadlocked vote. So, posthumously, the award goes to both Lori Averand and Randall Klemp."_

Everyone applauded with feeling, and Tim felt Tony pat him on the shoulder. He hadn't ever really, _really _thought he would win, but now at least there was closure to the matter. It was over. Done with. He felt relieved, now, even though he hadn't been sure the EAP award would be given out at all. Relaxing, he smiled. Like most of the attendees, he looked forward to the end of the work day, and getting outside to enjoy the concerts, the barbecues, and the fireworks.

"_The next award is for Special Agent of the Year…and the award goes to…Leroy Jethro Gibbs."_

As usual, Gibbs was nowhere in sight. After confirming this, Tony got up to accept the award for his recognition-shy boss. The medal would go in the drawer with the others he had in safekeeping for Gibbs.

People stirred in their seats. It was surely time to leave, once Vance signaled the end. The band was now playing _76 Trombones._

"_And we have one final award; one drawn up after the close of the regular process. Normally we would wait until the following year to present it, but the committee's unanimous vote was to give it out now._

"_So, for our second special award of 2009, it is my great pleasure to present the seldom-appearing award for Meritorious Service. Last presented in 1998, this award goes to an individual whose diligent work to rise above severe constraints in an effort to safeguard the agency, despite risks to one's own well-being or good name, and whose courage in doing so exemplifies the highest principles of NCIS service. It is with deepest gratitude and satisfaction that I now present this award to…Special Agent Timothy McGee."_

Tim could barely make out the cheers and shrieks of his friends and coworkers. He was stunned. Tony and Ziva had to pull him to his feet, and give him a shove toward the podium. Outside, an early firecracker went off.

All around him, his coworkers were giving him a standing ovation. News of the truth behind Tim's weeks-long struggle with Ott had, of course, long since circulated in NCIS. Ducky had told him, earlier, that he had become a minor folk hero, but he hadn't believed it…until now. Grinning like a goof, Tim made his way forward.

But nothing pleased him more than to see, standing at a door, and smiling and applauding with the rest…_Gibbs._

It wasn't the award he had thought of, months ago.

It was better.

-END-


End file.
